Safe and Sound
by BITcHnoO
Summary: The Overlands were a perfectly normal family, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. Jackson Overland was gifted with unexplainable powers. Personally, he had felt like he was cursed with them. HOGWARTS AU snippets.
1. Chapter 1

Four-years-old, he's climbing on furniture, bouncing on walls, and talking non-stop. Finn quietly reads a picture book. Ben is in school, learning about multiplication and sedimentary rocks. He watches his mother chop some vegetables in the kitchen. She is smiling peacefully, a sliver of teeth, corners slightly upturned. They all have the same smile. Jack is tired of playing with boys; he wishes to have a little sister. A cute delicate thing with their smile and bright eyes and freckles, someone he can protect.

Jack runs from room to room. The red cape billowing as he moves. He hears a loud crash, but he doesn't care. He can always blame Finn for that. He's a bit of troublemaker. He hears the door open, and he looks to the Mickey Mouse clock on the wall, he doesn't understand what it means, but he knows dad magically comes home at the letters "III". He rushes to the door, cape trailing behind him.

He stops in front of his dad, and stares. His uniform is a bit frazzled, a light stain on his shirt, and the badge his father wears, the one he clips onto his chest whenever he goes out to shoot people in the line of duty.

"Dad!" He yells, and jumps into his arms. His dad lets out an _'oof'_ from the added weight. He snuggles the space between his neck and shoulder meet. He smells the recognizable scent of coffee, cigarettes, and mint. Finn comes rubs his brown eyes, and hugs their father's leg. His mother arrives moments later, wiping her hands with the dishtowel. Her heart warmed at the sight of her two boys with their father.

.

.

.

Jack's first victim is his older brother.

He places a pile of white cream on one hand, and tickles on the nose.

It works.

(Twenty seconds later, He runs from a seething Ben.)

.

.

.

Five-years-old, and he's bouncing in every step, zooming across fields, clinging onto his mother's leg. Everyone knows who Commissioner James Overland's son is. A terror on two legs, football star, and the little devil. Jack likes to swing from his shoulders because dad knows he likes to fly, a little dream of his.

"Dad, teach me how to fly!" He says, a pearly white grin. Missing teeth, and gums, and all. Dad chuckles, a deep resonating sound, before he perches him on top of his shoulders, ready for take off.

"Hold on tight, champ!" He yells, then runs towards the sun. Jack doesn't listen, he raises his hands high above his head, and he can feel the wind breezing through his face, softly ruffling through his shirt. The familiar feel of liberty, and he thinks that it is a great feeling.

He looks down to his father, and he father stares up at him, and they don't look too hard on each other, but he knows that well-known stare he has going on when he's looking at the newly recruited cadets, or the scary-looking officials or when Ben brought his report card. A look that spoke a thousands different things, but he knows what it means.

 _Don't disappoint me,_ his father says with his eyes.

.

.

.

Jack thinks his family is a bit too perfect. He compares it to the company provided stock photos on picture frames, bright smiles and candidness. They are the obnoxiously picture-perfect family with a white fence, and small dog, everyone secretly wants.

Which is why, he doesn't understand other families.

Seven-years-old Jackson Overland is the star player in the little football league. He's proud and he's fast and everyone knows him. Jack knows this because he likes it when his muscles are burning, stretching, and when the crowd cheers. His dad is a busy man, but he knows when he isn't pinning a badge onto his chest and not risking his life, he comes to his little league games.

His jersey, big bold letters that say 'OVERLAND', is clung to his skin like scotch-tape. Dark hair plastered on his forehead, eyes wild. He scans over the crowd of screaming parents. His father is nowhere to be seen.

He can feel the gnawing ice fingers trail down his back. His sweat becomes cold. Breaths even more labored. He ignores his teammates yelling his name over and over again. Everything is white noise.

 _He's late,_ he thinks. _Of course he's late. It must be traffic. Or, or something came up._

He sets his head down, studying the grass under his feet. White specks decorated the green, slowly encasing the spikes of grass into icicle-like figures. Pointed, and sharp. Jack glanced over the side, the coach having a heated and silent conversation with some of the parents, ever so slightly mouth were agape. That's when he knew what was going on.

Jack doesn't remember how he ended up on the ground. His hands were gripping the blades of grass tightly, ripping it from the earth. They were frozen solid. He can feel them pressing against his palm. Red stained against the stark white that surrounded him.

The whistle was blown, something about a foul, he wasn't sure. He doesn't remember much. His head is lifted from the ground, hands pressed against his cheeks. The coach's worried face enter his vision, he can see adults behind him whispering to each other. _'poor kid', 'how awful', 'I can't imagine,'_ is what they say. Jack wants to prove them. They don't understand. His father is immortal and stronger and better than all of them. The school nurse arrived, rifling through first aide kits, cleaning up the wounds. His back rubbed in circles.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt?" She says, wrapping bandages on his palms. He can feel the slight twinge of pain from the antiseptic. She places the back of her on his forehead, a wide expression on her face. "Sweetie, you're freezing." She quickly says, grabs a blanket for him, draping it across his shoulders.

"No," he finally says, but it's soft, slightly above a whisper. He fiddles with the ends of his jersey. "Is my dad here yet?"

He won't forget the look on her faces. It was something akin to being caught committing murder. The coach, a gruff-looking man, crouched in front him. His eyes were studying him, deciding how to say it gently without breaking the poor boy.

"Jack, your mom called earlier… your dad's in the hospital."

.

.

.

The doctor is a nice lady. She's Mrs. Overland's friend from college. She gives free vaccines to people who can't afford it. She gives lollipops.

Jack sits between his brothers. Finn is nodding off, his glasses dangling on his ears. Ben is quiet, eyes blinking, holding Emma. Jack's feet is no longer hang high above floor, but instead it barely grazes the floor. His cleats covered with mud and grass. His face still had traces of dirt on him.

Mrs. Overland and Dr. Moore talk in hush whispers, every moment glancing at them. Each time, Mom was getting more frazzled. Until, they finally decided to usher them into their father's room. Loud beeping noises surrounded the room, lying on the hospital bed was their father.

Jack had inherited his father blue spider web pale skin, but it couldn't compare that stark whiteness of his father. He looked like all his blood was drained. He could barely open his eyes. The IV was in his arm. Despite the large air mask on his face, he managed to smile.

"…Hey boys…" He managed to croak out. His mouth was twitching to keep the smile in his face. Jack rushed to his side, planting his face into the blanket. The warmth is gone. He holds the trembling in, can't show weakness, and so the lights flicker on and off repeatedly.

"..Sorry, champ." He whispers, he brushes his hand on his head. He plays with the ends of his russet hair. "..Didn't make it…to the…game."

.

.

.

Jack absolutely hates that his father's job requires him to risk his life, and at the same finds it so damn cool, that he absolutely admires him.

So when his father is relieved of duty, he can't say that he's happy about it. He no longer has to worry about the bullets that could have pierced his father's skin, and ending his life, and he's glad, but the happiness is short-lived because he has another monster to face, and no it's not a petty thief, the mafia, a bomber, or the government.

He's called cancer. Jack loathes him, detests, and he wishes he can just sock him in the face. The thing is about him is that he can't see him, nor touch him or do anything unmentionable. Just to spite Jack even more, he leaves marks everywhere. From bruises, to the abnormally excessive bleeding or knocking dad out for two days.

.

.

The first time Jack is fully aware of the oddities that surround him, and that it wasn't _normal_ for children to have ice form around his feet is when he is in elementary. When kids there bullied him in regular basis. It's nothing serious, though, they just made fun of his messy hair and short height, called him names, and shunned him for "being a nutter", and ,well, no one ever really took him seriously. Jack ignored them as best as he can, never let them see they get to him, and after a few tries the kids would leave him alone.

However, one of the bullies stared to get really annoying. Jack can't quite recall his name. Anyway, he is the most horrid boy he had the misfortunate to ever meet, bulky build with dirty blond hair, and has been picked on him since the first day they met. He constantly placed sand in his desk, the derogatory labels place on his personal belongings, and even worms in his trousers.

And, well there was this one time that he finally snapped when the bully had snatched his action figure from his grasp. Running away, laughing. His vision had blurred, and he remembers screaming, and being pushed down to fall on his bottom. Sand entering his eyes, his pants, his shoes, and the tears that he refused to fall on his cheeks.

"What's the matter, Overland?" he taunted, his yellow teeth poking out from his lips, "You want your daddy to come save you?"

Then he proceeded ripping off his actions figure's parts limb by limb, and each time Jack screamed. The bully threw the dismembered toy in the trashcan and mocked him cruelly, and in that moment Jack was so angry, so furious and confused, that the most violent thought formed in his mind ever since he he learnt the word hate: revenge, wanted to hurt the boy so badly for damaging her precious book, that he wanted to see him burned to the ground.

Something deep inside him stirred, uncurled, then clicked; A ice ran through his body, cracking and freezing through him, burst out of his skin and rushed toward the unsuspected boy, leaving a faint blue glow on his fingertips invisible to anyone else but himself.

Suddenly, the boy's dark blonde locks was turning white, his skin changed into a deathly blue tint, and he jumped back and yelped in fright. Jack cried out as well, horrified and disbelieving at what he had done, and watched in morbid fascination as he clutched his chest in pain, his breaths laboured as he puffed out cold air. His wails echoed into Jack brain, teary, screeching, painfully. He snapped out of his daze, and began screaming for help.

Eventually, the teacher came to the boy's rescue and sent him to the infirmary; She even comforted Jack for being caught up in the ghastly scene, unbeknownst to his role in the ordeal. Because of the cold weather, the staff had concluded that the boy suffered hypothermia. His change of hair colour was a mystery.

And well, Mr. and Mrs. Overland comfort Jack, shower him with love and care, and no, no, it was an accident, it wasn't your fault.

Jack wants to scream because, yes, his parents love him, and he loves them too, but they will never ever understand him.

.

.

.

Jack loves his mom. He loves her. That's one thing he has to straighten out. She makes his hot chocolate, she tucks him into bed, she kisses the tears away when he cries and he knows that she loves him back. But he doesn't like it when she drinks too much wine, or when she's working too late, or when she's passed out on the kitchen table, papers strewn all over the space. He doesn't like it one bit. He hates it.

And that one tiny thing, where they stop. Because Mrs. Overland doesn't get Jack. She doesn't understand him. And neither will he.

But she tries anyways.

After the incident, Jack catches his mother researching his powers. She read books on all kinds of subject, including but not limited to nature science, psychology, science fiction, fantasy, and even television. He sees her passed out on dining table, papers littered around her that range from unpaid medical bills to the print handouts about genetics. The word 'mutant' is highlighted in three different papers. He picks a random book from her pile, careful to not wake her, and he flips through it, and stops and stares at a particular page.

A woman tied to on a pole, fire surrounding her.

.

.

.

"Mummy, am I monsta?" He asked, his eyes wide. "People are scared of me."

"Shh, shhh, of course not," she whispered, combing his hair back with her fingers. "The world isn't ready for you."

"What do you mean? The world is too big, ma!"

"Well," she says, a small smile forming on her face, "Change isn't easy. It takes time for people to accept that sort of stuff."

"But, I can't control them. What if I hurt someone?"

"No," she said softly, her heart breaking at the look on his face, "You're different." she taps the tip of his nose.

"Different?"

"Yes, because I know you can never hurt anyone. I know you're going to do great things with them!"

"Really?"

"Yes really! I think there's a reason that you're born with these powers." she wiggles his feet, tickling his toes. Jack laughs uncontrollably.

"Jackie, I want you to know no matter what happens to you, mommy and daddy will always love you, even if you think you've made the wrong choice. No matter what."

"Okay! I will love Mummy and daddy always!"

.

.

.

Jack locks himself in his room. Head placed between his hands. The black storm between his ears was ready to burst out. Over a year of endless sadness, and nauseating anger had finally crept up to him like a shadow. Caging him in, and no way to get out. His fingers dig into his skin, embedding angry red marks, and he can feel his feet burn as he pushes them further into wooden floor, creaking dangerously under pressure.

It's a searing hot pain, despite the cold. He feels his muscles tighten too much, his jaw clenching and toes curling… and he's begging for it to stop.

The door is barricaded with his dresser and bed. The windows are closed with wooden panels. Icicles bigger than dragon teeth were formed around him. They were dangerous, deadly, lethal, and treacherous. The ice was glistening, dripping, like winter's daggers. Jagged lines decorated the floor resembling that of spider-webs. He breathes in and out. The white cloud that was released only showed how cold he was. Harsh sobs rattled his tiny frame. His tears forming turned into crystals in the sub-zero temperature.

.

.

.

Jack accidentally freezes a glass of milk. He frowns at the abomination that rested coolly against his skin. An idea forms into his head and he focuses on the liquid, and he can feel his finger begin to heat. The liquid melts, swishing along the glass. He grins in victory. As the rim of the glass touches his lip, it freezes all over again.

.

.

.

Mr. and Mrs. Overland have an argument.

It's a very rare occurrence. Jack compares it to watching national geographic.

He sits by the stairs, holding the railings like jail bars, his feet dangling ten feet above his parents. He listens quietly for once.

"It's your fault you know." Jack is startled by the noise, he whips his head and he sees Finn. Clutching his blanket, he too has heard it.

Jack narrows his eyes at him. Even in the darkness, Finn still manages to piss him off.

"How do you know?"

Finn sits next to him, he dangles his feet in the air. The giant window by the stairs casts moonlight onto them. They stare at each other for a moment. Eyes bloodshot and glassy, as if they were reflections of their own.

"Not one decent school is going to accept you." He whispers. "You know, you could've just tried. You could've been like me. You're not dumb, I know that much."

Jack stares at him flatly, brown against brown. "I'm not like you. I don't need you."

"Why, can't you just be normal for once?"

The silence stretched for miles. The atmosphere suddenly resembled that of a winter storm. The air becoming thick that could cut deep as a knife. The toe curling screams his mother let out were all background noise.

Finn visibly shivers. Uncontrollably. His hugs himself, and teeth are clattering. "W-"W-w-what is it with this weather? D-did Mum f-f-forget to close the windows a-again?" He chatters out.

Finn glances at Jack, who is seemingly unaware of the incoming hypothermia he was feeling. Surely he felt the cold? Finn pinched his hand. Again. Again. Numb.

"J-J-Jack?" then he froze in place, horrified what he had seen. Jack looked at him, with a blank stare, his eyes cold. But honestly that wasn't what startled him, the thing that made his heart beat against his chest was the sharp-spiky ice that was protruding from Jack. It was aimed directly at him.

"Y-y-you're a freak."

And somehow, that stings.

As if they were magic words, Jack had returned. His eyes blinking like a doll. The temperature had gone down back to its normal summer air.

"You're bloody freak. A freak." Finn started, like a mantra. He stood up, backing away from him. "You tried to.." he gulped, loudly. "Get away from me."

"Finn." Jack said quietly. "Don't tell anyone."

Finn stared at him, appalled. Finn turned on his heel, and slammed the door shaking the entire house.

Jack sits still.

Jack is not normal.

Jack is a freak.

.

.

.

Jack pokes at the girl in front of her name. Her blonde hair tangled between his fingers. Her strawberry-scented shampoo enters his senses.

She turns around, blue eyes ablaze. She narrows her eyes at him. "Could you stop it?"

Jack shrugs his shoulders at her. Smile played on his lips. "Sure, but I won't."

The girl, Flora Matthews, widens her eyes. Then eyebrows knit together, a blush forming on her cheeks.

Later that day, she becomes Jack's first girlfriend.

(Certainly not his last.)

.

.

.

Jack starts to explore his powers carefully, and found a few ways to exploit it until now, such as telekinesis, pacifying small wild animals, and if concentrated hard enough, he can freeze small particles of water in mid-air.

Whenever he used his powers, he can feel the rush in his veins. He loves the feel of his muscles burning, and stretching. Jack doesn't believe in Gods. He believes they can be created though.

.

.

.

The bullies gang up on him, leaving him into a dead end. He looks around the vicinity as they move closer, their mouths in twisted curls, yellow teeth poking out like a pit bull. He sees a pipe, and he climbs it, and can feel the distance moving away, and continues further up until he reaches on the rooftop. His arms feel like lead, and moving hurts, but he sees the view, and he thinks it's not so bad.

.

.

.

At some point in the time of Jack's ninth year of life, he had managed to be called in the principal's office for about a total of twelve times. One of his then classmates had sported a rather large looking bruise on his left eye after heated confrontation with Jack.

Listening quietly with the muffled sounds of arguing parents inside the room. His feet dangled from the chair he was sitting on. His brother Finn was sitting next to him. A rather bulky looking bulk lay on his lap. Ignoring the loud noise emitting from the room next to them.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Jack indignantly speaks to the boy. He rotated his towards him. The boy continued to read, only the turning of pages he heard.

"Finn." He growls.

He was a bit taken aback from the stony look he received from his brother. He stared at a face that looked like his own. It was eerie how identical they looked. He spoke in monotone voice, "It wasn't your fight. You didn't need to do that."

Jack scoffed, rolled his eyes. "You expect me to leave you alone like that? He was picking on you."

"I don't need you." He shot back, eyes narrowed into slits.

"Clearly." Jack says cynically, clicking his tongue. "You didn't even fight back."

His brother clenches his jaw, and Jack notes how he does the same thing. "Everything was under control, until you split your knuckles into Rex King's teeth." He nearly yells, chest heaving up and down. His book was sprawled forgotten on the floor.

"He was going to beat you into bloody pulp! Take a good look on your face, you prat! Where'd you get that split lip, huh?"

"Will you just shut up? I'm tired of listening. Dad wouldn't have–!"

"Don't you dare bring dad into this!" Jack roared, echoing into the deserted hallways. Lockers were slamming against each other, papers flown everywhere, hair whipping against the wind. It was cold, unnaturally cold.

Finn stared at his brother in terror. Eyes wide like saucers, Jack saw himself in the glasses' reflection. His face was similar that of a monster, his teeth bared, hair was wild, and eyes that were ready to kill.

His ears picked up the soft click of a lock. He straightened himself out. Everything was back into place. The calm after the storm.

He saw Rex King and his mother emerge from the door. Shooting dirty looks at them, his mother followed by. Her face was drained from energy, a defeated look on her face.

"Put your boy into a leash!" Mrs. King snarled, before placing a hand on her son's shoulder. They walked briskly away, leaving the family alone.

It was silent. The boys stared at their mother, quietly waiting for another lecture. She stood in front of them, eyes in a daze. Her hair was tied in messy up-do. Her fingers were barely holding her purse. She looked at them, her eyes studying them carefully. Then she let out a sigh, as if she was holding on to for quite some time.

"C'mon, your uncle Henry is waiting outside." She spoke out. Gesturing them to follow.

Both boys slid off the bench. Finn dusted off the cover of his book. They silently trailed behind their mother.

Time to visit dad.

.

.

.

Hospitals were never really Jack's thing. Or to be more specific, hospital waiting rooms weren't made to be comfortable. The pale white walls, the small fish tank that situated near the tacky fake plant, and that there weren't any televisions in the room made you want to scream in agony. Children were impatient, and Jack wasn't an exception to that. Staring at the faceless receptionist behind the glass, Jack sat uncomfortably on the provided chairs. The chairs were uncomfortable cheap plastic ones that were made to house at least an hour. He had slid off to the chairs for a couple times or so, his feet dangling from height. Tottering from side to side as he stared at the glass.

Ten-year-old Jack Overland thought that hospital waiting rooms were absolute torture.

From the first doctor's visit to the treatment therapy to shutting off respirators, they had lost over half the year to the hospital. The chemotherapy didn't work. Or the radiations, surgeries, and the entire works of it all. Half a year filled with taxicabs, white walls, disinfectants, injections, and IV drips. His mother squaring her frail shoulders into the doctor's for even more grim news. His mother is young, very young, and too young to handle four kids on her own, and despite that he can feel her determination and jaw clenched with the word 'provider'.

He looks to his side and sees his baby sister cuddled in a warm blanket, snoring softly. A serene look on her face, and he can feel his anger bubble up, but he suppresses it. Unfair, he thinks. Emma is only four-years-old and he knows for a fact that she won't even get to remember what their father was like. She won't remember being tucked into bed after his amazing bedtime stories, the feel of his strong grip on the wrists when he swings them, or the flying in the air on his bulky, reliable shoulders. She won't feel the misery, the depression, and that the fact her father is dying in some pale cold room. Unfair, how Jack had to put his head between his hands to calm down the storm brewing into his head, ready to burst out of his ears. The nauseating madness of the never-ending cycle of remission, relapse, remission, and relapse.

There was no use. Everything failed. The cancer spread into dad's bones, into his blood. Jack wasn't a pessimist, but he was pretty sure what a corpse looked like.

Jack swivels his head towards the door. Longing to be in there, but instead steadily gripped the armrests. It's been a while. He couldn't ignore when the doctor came out, his mom would stand, and the two of them spoke hushed and rushed voices. Mom would always have a look of relief on her face, the wrinkles and dark circles still evident. They only seemed to grow bigger in each visit. Sometimes, she would smile at us and tell us to wait before walking into the doors, sometimes she wouldn't even spare us a glance and come rushing into the doors, and lately the latter was much more frequent.

Ben was away, went to the other side of the building to get some snacks for his siblings. Finn was reading a book about planets, his glasses perched awkwardly on his face. A wiry looking one that reflected the fluorescent lights. Jack was teetering, tottering on his chair. He was sick of playing his Nintendo, if that was even possible.

He stared across from him. The small tank housed a variety of aquatic life. He had named all of them, the guppies, the goldfishes, the snails, and some other he couldn't pronounce. It couldn't distract him of the elephant in the room. Childish imagination could only go so far.

Jack recalls the first time he sat in the terrible room. He was roughly at the age of six, when it started. Back when dad still had all his hair, back when he didn't need a wheelchair, back when he still had the familiar deep baritone voice that gave warmth.

.

.

.

Jack and Finn are still in a cold war, and Ben Overland is forced to grow up faster. Mom takes longer hours at work, takes longer trips to visit. Ben picks them up from the school later than usual. The journey is awkward and still like the dried leaves on the pavement.

The moment they arrive home, Ben goes straight to the kitchen. Finn grabs his advance geometry homework, and Jack plops on the couch. The TV screen flashes an infomercial about insurance. Ben talks to someone on his new mobile, placed between his ear and shoulder. He carries a bowl of macaroni and cheese. He chuckles slightly and says, "Don't worry, I've become a bit adept at making macaroni and cheese."

"No, Mum. I'm not going to burn the house down!"

Macaroni and cheese was now common in the Overland household. Back then, Mrs. Overland whip up some complicated recipe that he couldn't pronounce. Everyday was a bit of a surprise for them. She had banned the idea of microwavable goods, and anything too easy to cook. When the baby-sitter Martha couldn't make time to come over to cook for us, when mom was too emotionally tired to pick up a skillet for eggs, the boys had taken the liberty to eat the less complicated and less exotic macaroni and cheese.

"Okay, okay, got it." He says, placing the hot food on the table. He grimaces at the slightly burned edges.

"Mum's taking another shift in the hospital." He announces, running a hand through his brown locks, "She's won't come by till a bit after midnight," He adds, smiling wearily.

.

.

.

Jack is sent home early for loitering on the school roof.

His mother is not upset, but furious. Her jaw is clenched; her hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel. Her eyes are hard and stern. The wedding ring on her finger glints from the light.

"–sake, Jack! What on earth were you doing up there!? You nearly gave me a heart attack! I'm so tired of your shenanigans. God! Your father was worried, did you know that? I had to leave the hospital because your principal called me. Oh my God." She rambles on, a car over-takes her and she pushes the horn with all her might.

"I swear mom, I was running from these kids. Then suddenly there was this fence and–"

"Enough Jack! I am tired of listening to the same story. Your father is telling too many fairy tales to you." She says, cold as ice, stronger than steel. She shakes her head disapprovingly. "And what did I say about your powers? We've gone over this a million times!"

Jack wants to scream at her. He opens his mouth to do so, ice forming on the window, but he sees the tears leak out of her eyes. They trail down her chin, landing onto her lap. She uses her hand to wipe her tears, but they continue to spill like a waterfall.

"Do you know how worried I was? God, if you had fallen off. I w-wouldn't know what to do... I – I can't lose you too."

Then something clicks in the back of Jack's head.

His mother had lost hope.

.

.

.

Jack sits beside his father. A cold cup of what used to be hot chocolate is next to him, ' _Merry Christmas_ _!'_ is scrawled on the Styrofoam cup. He laughs quietly, words that are too happy for a place like this. He's always been the jokester, despite how awful and sad the situation is. Dad's room is located at one of the top floors of the hospital, so it provides a beautiful view of the city. The rain has stopped. The television is displaying the countdown for new years. Everyone is smiling, but not the usual familiar bright smile. Ben is on his mobile, Finn is immersed in another book, Emma is playing with her new Barbie doll, and mum is talking to uncle Henry.

Jack stares at his father's chest. Watching the rise and fall of it. He drums his fingers on the chair's armrest, in sync with his father's fluttering heartbeat. A noise that used to be wild and thumping, but now is quiet and still like that of a butterfly's flapping.

Jack runs a hand through his dark hair, ignores the added length that crept on his neck. It sneaks up to him, and he reflects about how fast time has gone. Time wasted. It was as if time had not existed, had not passed at all. He remembers the day clearly, the ambulance, the white men carrying his father on a stretcher, the screaming.

Jack doesn't cry. He remembers the feeling of nothing. Numbness settling in his bones, and he wants to scream. Having half a year of pure madness, and anger,

and sadness, Good God, he didn't know what to do, but the white men knew, and how could he possibly begin to accept that?

.

.

.

On the night of Jack's eleventh birthday, he was sitting at the back of his uncle Henry's car with Emma on his side, her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes closed, but not sleeping. He stared at the window, drops or rain patting lightly on the glass. The sky was black, but he could still see dark clouds pouring. City lights were a blur of neon colors. His brothers were, for once, not busying themselves with anything, but listening to 'Sweet Caroline' on radio.

Their mother was at front, her hand clasped tightly with her brother's. Her knuckles were a clenched white. The windshield was moving back and forth from the downpour. The world was dark, melting blue into tears that were moving against the motion.

Jack continues to stare ahead. Amongst the busy street, he stared at the people. He quietly contemplates, making up different stories for each faceless person. Smiling grimly at their ignorance. He glances down to his lap, a worn-out spider-man action figure, it's missing limbs and a half bitten head. He rubs the chewed toy.

Jack doesn't try to stop the ice encasing it.

.

.

.

His brothers are braver than him. Quiet at the funeral, quiet during the day, and Jack wants to scream at them, because their silence is so wrong— Little boys should _cry._

He was their _father._

.

.

.

Life went on. Nothing was lost. Loss became a part of him. He knew that some part of him would be attached to that loss, but all he could was call that a memory.

When Jack is particularly feels alone, and can no longer feel the firm shoulders below him then he talks to the man in the moon.

Jack lies on bed, staring at the glow in the dark stars plastered on his wall. He remembers that day clearly, jumping up and down his bed. Nearly breaking the springs. The room is dark. The artificial lights guide him. He thinks of someone else, probably sitting in their bedroom thinking about lights. A dream.

He stares at the ball of light shining from his window, creating an ethereal glow against the inky blackness that surrounds him. The world is silent and still, unmoving. And, and..

He sucks at fortune telling: He can't predict the future. He doesn't know if he can get a happy ever after. He doesn't know if he can ever achieve full-fledged happiness. He closes his eyes and everything disappears like a background noise.

.

.

.

Jack doesn't dare look at Finn's face. He isn't that very expressive, but he can read him like the books he read. Ben is out more often, hanging out with new buddies, going to parties, and being a normal teenager. Some nights Jack catches him creeping into cabinet where the wine is stored, Jack doesn't stop him.

Jack doesn't let sadness tear away his life. He still continues to stir up trouble, wrecking havoc as usual.

His mom checks up on him more, worries more. "Make sure you eat your breakfast." "Don't come home too late." "Make sure you do your homework." And stuff like that.

Sometimes Jack listens to his mother cry herself to sleep.

.

.

.

Jack doesn't stop practicing his powers. He gets better at it, good enough to control it under his fingertips. He doesn't stop pranking people, and he gets better at it too, and slowly he can feel the familiar feeling of liberty.

It's a great feeling.

.

.

.

Jack listens to the lazy drawl of his teacher, sprouting about fractions or something.

He draws himself on a piece of paper, a cape billowing out after him, flying high against the clouds.

Then fire alarm starts, shrill in his ears,and everyone is screaming. The teacher is frantically gesturing everyone to file out, but no one listens. The fire is coming fast. The room is full of smoke, and he suffocates. Eyes burning. They're trapped, and, and noise becomes fainter.

He feels the ice flowing into him, speeding like the river.

.

.

.

"I'm telling you, Jane! It was an act of God!" says Mrs. Woods. Her hands gesturing towards Jack, "Jack is special!"

Mrs. Overland smiled tightly, stirring her cup to calm her nerves, "Oh, you're just blowing things out of propor–"

"Jane, your boy saved a classroom of children from a fire!" She interrupted, " and this isn't the first time he's done something like this."

"Cynthia-"

"My boy, Harry, saw It." in which Harry responded in a frantic nod, "so did Hannah, Vivian, and Andrew!"

"Well, there's absolutely nothing going on with Jackson," she said calmly, staring at the young boy beside her. "I assure you."

.

.

.

Ben finds a frozen glass of milk. He tries to drink it anyway.

.

.

.

Jack decides to be the best brother in the world for Emma, and he tries his best to fill the hole in her heart that was meant for dad. He tells her his stories, goes ice-skating with her, and even perform shows with his magic (as he dubs his powers.)

He places her on his shoulders, feeling the weight of her. He looks up, and there, he sees it.

 _A cute delicate thing with their smile and bright eyes and freckles, someone he can protect._

.

.

Jack slips on a piece of paper. (Finn quietly mutters into his book, " _dumbass_." Jack glares at him. ) He picks up the piece of paper, but it was not any piece of paper but a letter. Addressed to him. He studied the envelope. No stamp, but instead a seal. A school perhaps? It had lion, a snake, a badger, and a raven. A letter H was in the center of it all.

A knock interrupts his thoughts, Jack opens the door.

.

.

.


	2. story update!

**Hello.**

 **I did it. Sort of.**

 **I made a story. with the hogwarts au.**

 **Obviously Im no pro-writer, but its for my own benefit, kind of? A therapeutic way like meditation.**

 **So it'd be great if you guys checked it out. :)**

 **story's in my profile which is called "BIG FOUR: THE BEGINNING"**


End file.
